


Unconventional Weapons

by feverbeats



Category: Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: "There are three things I think we need to win this," Polly said carefully. "Because they worked before, and this time we're a lot smarter."





	Unconventional Weapons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perryvic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/gifts).



Polly's head hurt. When she'd imagined going back, she conveniently blocked out a lot of the worst of soldiering. The endless marching, for instance. She had good boots this time—she was better prepared in general—but the marching still took its toll. She'd also forgotten the cold, the rain, and the most of all, the _complaining_. Of course, the first time it had mostly been the other recruits doing the complaining. This time, she was in charge, and therefore she was the one who was expected to solve the complaints.

She kept expecting, somehow, that the others would show up as Maladicta had. Polly had asked on the first night whether it was Maladict or Maladicta, because despite the female uniform, Polly had a feeling. Call it a sergeant's instinct. Mal had just shrugged and said, "It's not as if anyone remembers past Mal anyway, most of the time."

The squad mostly called Mal "Corp," as it turned out, and they seemed significantly less afraid of the vampire than they did of Polly. Mal did manage to come off fairly nurturing, with or without the _a_.

Ah yes, the squad. They had six girls, besides of the two of them. Three were in female uniform (or what passed for uniform, once Polly and Mal had been able to find all the bits), two in male uniform, and one who'd kept her male uniform but wasn't bothering with the socks or the name.

This was Rosemary, a recruit who had proven decidedly less boyish and squeaky once she'd settled in. Polly could see she was going to be trouble, if only because she was a bit too clever. Mary was more anxious--she reminded Polly of Igorina, a bit, in how fastidious she was. She did seem to be human, though. The others were Lizette, Francine, Sven, and Bucky. None of them were any good with weapons but Rosemary and Francine were picking it up fast.

Rosemary seemed, oddly, not to resent having cut off what looked to be lovely red curls. She'd cut them short, but not to the skull, and they kept making a vain effort to curl up again. Polly could imagine her making Corporal in a year, or in a pinch.

On the third day, Mal said to Polly, "No trolls or vampires this time, have you noticed?"

Polly wasn't sure if that was down to the army being less desperate this time around, or just that all her particular regiment hadn't attracted any.

"I have a feeling we'll see a few if we wind up in the action," she said.

"Do you think we will wind up in the action?"

Polly and Mal turned around. Mary was standing right behind them, fingering the edge of her jacket nervously.

Polly sighed. Okay. It was time to have a plan. The girls had been following her so far, but she needed to give them something to go on.

"All right, everyone," she said loudly, "circle up."

The rest of the squad drifted over and stood to varying degrees of attention.

"At ease," said Polly, mostly because it put _her_ more at ease. "It's time to explain to you all what we're doing."

 

And what _were_ they doing?

It went against all of her instincts. They were a fighting people, and if people kept picking fights with them, they'd have to fight back even harder. But maybe the key wasn't fighting, but getting the same result without a fight. And Polly was clever, but not clever enough to achieve that on her own. Not the right kind of clever. But she was the right kind of clever to get them the people they needed.

"We're going to find some old friends of mine," Polly said. "Names you've heard, maybe, although I don't know how fast news travels out here." _Certainly not as fast as light_ , she thought, thinking of the clacks towers. "And some of them are even going to march with us until we get where we're going." _If they'll come._

Sven, a quiet girl who felt more comfortable--and less abominable, probably--saying she was a boy, raised her hand. She hadn't quite got the hang of the army yet. "Where are we going, Sarge?" she asked.

"That's where I'll need you to trust me," Polly said. She wasn't ready yet. She had to talk to Mal. "But when we get there, I'm going to teach you all something more important than using weapons. I'm going to teach you diplomacy."

In the firelight, she could see Mal's fangs glinting in a smile.

After the squad was asleep for the light, Polly and Mal stayed up by the fire, drinking tea and pretending not to be cold. Mal probably wasn't.

"Some of them didn't like it," Mal says. "Did you see? Bucky and Francine in particular."

Polly nodded. "And Mary, I think. They want answers. Well, I'll give 'em answers tomorrow." She stretched until her back cracked. How easy it had been to slip back into life on the road. She hadn't bathed in days and she wasn't even worried about how she might smell.

"And I take it I get answers tonight?" Mal asked drily.

Polly nodded. Time to explain her plan and hope as hard as she could that it didn't sound foolish out loud. Her first instinct, that very first night on the road, had been to collect all the old Ins-and-Outs. They could find Tonker and Lofty and borrow them away from their life of crime. They could find Jade and her young man--well, troll--and ask for a hand. Speaking of, they could find Igorina, busily helping women everywhere in ways Polly wasn't quite sure of.

"I think we need some of the others," she said carefully.

Mal for quiet for a minute. "What do you think we'd find, if we went chasing after them?"

"Well," Polly said.

"We'd find Jade had settled down," Mal said. "Igorina? She probably _is_ back in the fight, but not soldiering. And if Tonker and Lofty are out, it's best to leave them out, don't you think?" 

"If they're out, they're out," Polly echoed.

"I know what you're thinking," Mal said, "but are you sure he'd come?"

Polly wasn't sure at all, but she had a very strong suspicion. She and Jackrum had talked about living the life so long you couldn't take it off again, and she didn't think they'd just been talking about socks.

"There are three things I think we need to win this," Polly said carefully. "Because they worked before, and this time we're a lot smarter."

Mal nodded. "Right, let me guess. Blouse, for one."

Polly nodded. "He might be stupid, but he's also smart. And knows a lot more about the world outside Borogravia than any of the rest of us." _Despite never having been_ , she added in her head.

"Second is Jackrum," Mal said. "Right?"

"Right."

"What's the third?" Mal asked.

Polly hesitated. She just hoped she was right about it. "Wazzer," she said.

"Wazzer," Mal repeated dubiously. "Why is that?"

Polly had always got the feeling that Mal wasn't especially comfortable with Wazzer, even before the whole incident with the Duchess. She'd have to play her cards right.

"Well," she said, "Don't you think there's a chance that she picked something up? Something that'd be useful for us?"

"You mean from working with the general," Mal said carefully.

"Well, no," Polly said. "Look: I don't want a war." She lowered her voice. "We've tried that over and over and it hasn't worked. So we need people who can do all the parts that don't get people killed, at least not directly. Jackrum's got connections, Blouse knows all about the clacks--"

"And Wazzer has delusions," Mal said lightly.

"That's enough, Corporal," Polly snapped, fed up. It was a good plan, and it was going to work.

"I don't think this will work," Mal said, as if reading her mind. "But you're still my sergeant."

If that was what they were, then Polly would just have to act like it. "Turn in, then, Corporal Maladict," she snapped.

Mal gave her an uncharacteristically hurt look, then shrugged and stalked off.

A few days later, they reached the town where Blouse was supposed to be staying. Sven had become an expert at talking to people in the towns they passed through, getting them to give away things they didn't even know where important. Rosemary scornfully called it spying, but Mal reminded her that sometimes you need a good spy.

Polly told the squad to wait in the creaky little tavern where they'd be staying the night, if they were lucky. Then she and Mal went to see Blouse. The two of them were still only speaking as necessary, mostly talking to the recruits. Map still didn't believe in her plan, Polly thought, but let tonight be proof that she'd know what she was doing.

Blouse was staying with a handful of other officers under him in the house of a local inventor. What he'd invented, Polly wasn't sure. Sven's gossip hadn't gone that far. What she did know, though, was that Blouse was supposed to be working on improved wartime communication methods.

She knocked on the door. To her surprise, Blouse himself opened it. He looked about as chinless as ever, but slightly better fed.

"Oh!" he said. "I--Perks! That is, Sergeant Perks." He looks a bit unnerved to see Polly in uniform.

"Major Blouse." She saluted and was gratified to see him automatically return the gesture. "Can we come in?"

"Oh course!" Blouse motioned them in, still looking dazed and pleased.

Polly and Mal sat at the table with Blouse and explained, over very bad beer, what they wanted.

When they were done, Blouse said, "So essentially it seems to me that you're saying you don't want a war."

"Right," Polly said. Under the table, she crossed her fingers.

"That you want, in fact, to prevent one. I must say, Sergeant, this isn't what I expected at all. I understand, of course, why we had to 'stand down' last time, but this time we've got a chance at winning!"

 _How soon we forget,_ Polly thought. "Yes, sir," she said patiently. "But don't you think it's a kind of winning? If we can use tri--that is, diplomacy to diffuse the situation, especially if we can prove Prince Heinrich isn't the rightful heir, that's winning."

Blouse looked doubtful. _Damn_ , thought Polly. _Don't let this all have been for nothing._

"We're going to find Wazzer, sir," Mal said. "And nobody knows better than she does about the line of succession."

Polly clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms.

"And you think we could use the semaphore to spread information?" Blouse said slowly. "And…"

"And make it true," Polly said. "We all know about how the truth works, don't we, sir?"

"Very well," Blouse said, and Polly finally breathed out. "But only because I respect you a great deal." Before Polly could be embarrassed, he added, "By the way, Sergeant, does anyone know you're out here with a squad, leading men? Or, ah--"

"Soldiers," Polly said firmly. "And yes, sir, I suppose so. Anyone who's seen us knows." They'd got looks, but nobody had outright tried to stop them.

"And do you need me to come with you?"

Polly shook her head. "No. Just be ready."

They marched hard after that. The recruits grumbled less, and Mal didn't offer up any sarcastic comments. When they camped every night, the squad worked hard on sparring, keeping watch, and, unfortunately, arguing.

The second time Polly had to shout down Rosemary and Lizette from going at each other, she was completely fed up.

"Do you want to be in the army, or not?" she yelled, standing between the two of them. "Because it's a long bloody walk home from here, so you'd best get started now if you haven't got what it takes to be civil to each other!" She wasn't sure if she sounded like a sergeant or like nobody's mum. Neither girl looked especially cowed.

"He's--She's--Rosemary's bossing me around like she's an officer!" Lizette said, cheeks bright pink with anger.

"Because you're too stupid to get anything right!" Rosemary shouted back. "You can't even turn out properly!"

Polly was starting to think she might have a fist-fight on her hands. She opened her mouth to shout again.

"You're in this together," Mal says softly, melting out of the shadows. "If that's too much for you, get out. It's as simple as that."

Polly and Mal stared at each other. Then Polly felt her shoulders relax, and she saw Mal smile. "Yeah," she said. "That's right."

Rosemary and Lizette looked at Polly and Mal, then at each other. "Okay, Corp," they both muttered. There weren't any problems after that.

By the time they reached Scritz, the recruits had settled down a lot. Sven had perfected his spying abilities, and he could actually be quite charming when he wanted. Rosemary and Francine could shout down anyone in a debate, or beat them down in a fight. Mary's stealth skills had come in handy a fair number of times. Bucky and Lizette were both cool-headed enough that Polly thought she might bring them along in any actual diplomacy she had to engage in.

But she didn't want anyone else around when she talked to Jackrum.

She asked around in the town, and everyone immediately knew where he lived. He appeared to be the terror of the local pub, which was a good sign, Polly thought. She couldn't shake the nagging fear that he would, after all, say no.

She went to his house and told herself she was screwing up her courage. When she knocked, a woman, plump-faced and in her forties, opened the door. Jackrum's son's wife, Polly guessed.

Polly whipped her shako off. "Excuse me," she said, "But is Sergeant Major Jackrum here?"

The woman brightened. "Yes," she said, "but--You do know he's retired?"

"We'd like to come in, if we could," Polly said gently. She found herself oddly uncomfortable now, talking to Borogravian woman and men. She and her squad seemed to occupy a space somewhere outside of all that. She supposed that's what being a soldier was all about.

She came into a house full of complete chaos. She identified what appeared to be about four generations, all sitting around a table together, talking and shouting over each other. She shouldn't have come at dinnertime. At the head of the table, though, was Jackrum, just as fat and red as ever. He even wore his civilian clothes like a uniform.

"Perks," he barked, getting to his feet immediately. Civilian life hadn't slowed him down.

"I was hoping we could talk," Polly said loudly.

Instead, Jackrum sat her down and introduced her to his family. They were all friendly and enthusiastic, especially when they learned who Polly was. Apparently Jackrum had shared a few stories. Polly had to tread carefully so as not to contradict any details he might have manipulated a little.

When dinner was done, Jackrum took Polly around back, where there was a wooden bench overlooking the forest. He went through the ritual of unwrapping his tobacco, cutting it, and starting to chew. Polly waited patiently.

"So," Jackrum said. "You've come to drag an old man out of retirement." There was a barely-concealed eagerness in his voice. "I'm not a fighting man anymore, Perks."

 _Still a man, though,_ Polly noted. _And not just for your family._

"I've put together a squad," Polly said.

Jackrum cleared his throat. "Oh you have, have you? We'll see about that. Going to win the war on your own?"

"Not exactly on our own," Polly said pointedly. She explained to Jackrum about Blouse, and about Wazzer, and about how sometimes when it came down to it, you could get pretty far on cunning and stop just short of violence.

Jackrum was silent for a while, chewing. Then he said, "I hate to say it, Perks, but I don't know how much help I'll be. You've got the brains, and I don't mean Blouse. You've got all the clever you need right there with Maladict. What do you need me for?"

"You know everyone," Polly said swiftly. "None of us is as old as you--sorry, Sarge--and none of us has been around like you have. We can't win this war just be being clever. We need someone who can violent without sticking a sword in someone." Because war, when it came down to it, was still war.

"I'll come," Jackrum said after a moment, "but on one condition. I'm not leading the bloody charge, all right?"

 _When you're out, you're out,_ Polly thought. Maybe it was true.

"Okay, Sarge," she said.

Jackrum nodded, satisfied. "That's Sergeant Major, though."

*

Change happens slowly. In stubborn, tenacious little countries like Borogravia, it happens more slowly still.

Alice—not longer Wazzer—was enjoying the slow change happening around her. Working for the general, she got to see so much, and most of it without anyone realizing. She could see things sliding back to the way they were, and it frustrated her. She no longer felt the Duchess so close by (although she was always there, oh yes), but she could remember very well what the Duchess had wanted. A change. And there had been changes, but habits are hard to break.

Alice was very, very quiet most of the time. She did her chores, which were starting to expand to include secretarial duties. When they said Prince Heinrich was going to invade, she expected at least one general to say they wouldn't go through all that again, but no one did.

So she watched, and she waited, and she burned.

*

Outside General Froc's office, Polly found herself wishing her old friends were with her. With her squad, they'd all been in the same sad, stinking, little boat. Now there was a boat all right, but Polly was the one in one steering.

She knocked on the door, feeling everyone's eyes on her.

"This had better go right," Mal hissed in her ear.

Wazzer opened the door and blinked at them. She was barely recognizable. She was still thin, but she no longer looked so stick-like. Her hair was brushed and starting to grow out. Her eyes were still huge, but the haunted looked had mostly gone. She was wearing a long pleated skirt and a long, slightly flared jacket.

"Polly!" she said, a thin little chirp of sound.

Polly had a moment where she wasn't sure whether or not to salute, but then she did anyway. The others took their cue from her and saluted too, although she could see Rosemary out of the corner of her eye, being reluctant. Jackrum was bowing so low his chin practically touched the ground.

"Alice," Mal said. Polly turned and saw that Mal was smiling, looking genuinely pleased to see Wazzer looking well.

"Are you here to see the general?" Wazzer asked.

"No. We're here to see you. We were wondering,” Polly said carefully, “if you wanted to help win a war. For good this time."

And she leaned in and kissed Wazzer on the cheek.


End file.
